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I don't want to be a cad Dirty Dick's is your house but after Damer's! O Lord!" The grin faded out of John's face. Caesar's loss outweighed his own gain. "Your governor was a Manorite," he said slowly. "Yes, in its best days; and he's always had a sneaking liking for it; but he knows, he knows, I say, that now it's rotten, and yet he sends me there. Why?" "Ask another," said John.
He looked up as John entered, and in silence handed him the message. "Demon dead. Died gloriously." The telegram came from an Harrovian, an old Manorite at the War Office. John sat down, stunned by the news; Warde regarded him gravely. John met his glance and could not interpret it. Presently, Warde said nervously "Why did the fellow write 'Demon' instead of 'Scaife'? I don't like that."
I'd sooner be master of the Manor than Prime Minister. I couldn't tackle his work. Enough of that. Now, forget for a moment that I'm a Master. Let me talk as an Old Harrovian, an old Manorite who remembers everything, ay everything, good and bad. Some lucky fellows remember the good only; we call them optimists. Others remember the bad. Pessimists those. Put me between the two.
Lawrence could see that the boy was trembling with disappointment and mortification. Barbed arrows from Damer's small boys pierced Manorite hearts. "Jolly well boshed, Scaife! Good, kind, old Demon! Thank you, Scaife! " and like derisive approbation rolled from lip to lip. The Caterpillar turned to Lovell. "Showing temper, ain't he?" "Yes," said Lovell.
John crawled to the conclusion that Scaife had become jealous of his increasing intimacy with Desmond. However, when the three boys were preparing their Greek for First School, Scaife seemed his old self, friendly, amusing, and cool as a cucumber. Long ago he had initiated John into Manorite methods of work.
And would any one say 'Demon' in such a serious context?" "Oh, my God!" said John, pale and trembling. At last he understood. Add two letters to "Demon" and you have "Desmond." How easily such a mistake could be made! "Desmond," ill-written, handed to an old Manorite to copy and despatch. "It's Scaife it's Scaife," John cried.
Thus it will be seen that, although Desmond had become a Manorite, he was, practically speaking, out of John's orbit. The Caterpillar had now been three years in the school, and he governed himself accordingly. He put on a "bar-maid" collar and spent much time on the top step of the boys' entrance to the Manor. No mere two-year-old presumed to occupy this sacred spot.
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